Danny
by SarahSwan7
Summary: A trusted colleague, a close friend. The team's reaction to Danny's death. One-shot.


She opens the door as quietly as she can, conscious of the silent woman on the other side, the woman who is too fragile for her sleep to be disturbed.

Ruth steps into the room. Her friend's eyes are tightly sealed, but her mascara is still smudged down her cheeks. Her breathing is steady and even, soothed by the sedative. Her blonde hair is splayed out on the pillow on which her head rests, her limbs comfortably arranged on the bed in the medical centre.

Sleeping is the only way that Sam can escape the pain.

...

"We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Zaf."

Zaf holds his hand out for a shake, a smile plastered on his face. It's so fake he can feel it dissolving already. For the first time in a long time he is unable to smile.

"Malcolm. I'm sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances," the other man returns.

"Tell me about it." Zaf lets his gaze wander over the workplace. The Grid. His new work placement that has provided tragedy today.

He scrambles for words because he finds talking to be an effective strategy to stop yourself going insane. "I think I'll head off. I don't belong around here, particularly not today-"

"Stay," Malcolm tells him. "You've done nothing wrong. I know you didn't know Danny, but that doesn't mean we're going to shut you out."

Zaf's second smile feels a little more genuine.

...

Colin almost ducks out of sight when he spots her leaving the building. Her hair is tangled and dishevelled. Her posture looks as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, which is hardly surprising. She almost glances in his direction, and her eyes are heavy and tired and trickling with tears. She ducks her head when approaching the security guard, embarrassed, as she heads outside.

Colin suddenly doesn't want to let Sam disappear without a trace.

"Sam!" he calls, breaking into a jog. For a second he doubts if she will even turn around.

But she is still Sam. She is broken and grief-stricken and exhausted, but she is still kind and gentle and welcoming. Of course she turns around.

"Colin." She attempts a tiny smile.

"I'm-" He hesitates. He doesn't want to embarrass her. "Good luck. With whatever you do next."

"Thanks. Good luck with the computer wizardry," she replies quietly, her smile slowly slipping.

"You'll be brilliant," he blurts before he can stop himself. They had never been particularly close – he was too shy, she was too vivacious. But she had always been kind, and kindness was something Colin valued. It was all too often absent nowadays.

"You're brilliant, Sam. We'll miss you."

She smiles again as tears glisten down her face. She is both happy and desperately sad.

"Goodbye, Colin," Sam says, turning away from Thames House.

Colin makes his way back inside silently, rubbing a stray tear away with the back of his hand.

...

He's the first one to see Fiona when she arrives back on the Grid, and he wishes he can disappear back into his office. But Fiona is exceptional at what she does – she will have already noticed his presence, and would become suspicious if he slipped away.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

Fiona steps out of one of the pods and sighs to herself. "As if I'd have been better off not waking up this morning."

"I know that feeling all too well," Harry confesses sincerely. "You can have leave for however long you need, Fiona."

"I don't want leave," she replies automatically.  
"Well, I'm ordering it. Go home and sleep. Talk to Adam."

"I can't," she says, more to the floor than to him.

"Go home," Harry says again. There's nothing more he can say to his officer today. No words of wisdom will quicken the healing of her emotional wounds.

She turns around and is about to step into the pods, but she speaks. "It's not fair."

It doesn't sound like Fiona. When she turns to face him, the tears that are threatening to fall don't look right in her eyes.

"No. It isn't," Harry agrees.

Sometimes, in this job, it can all be so horribly unfair.

...

"You shouldn't be here."

If anyone else had said it, in that moment Adam would have shouted in their face. But not to Ruth. When Ruth said something like that, she wasn't patronising or judging. She was sincerely looking out for someone else.

He lifts his heavy eyes to meet her face. "I know."

"Go home," she tells him softly.  
"I don't want to crowd her," Adam murmurs, knowing Ruth wouldn't require a further explanation.

"She'll want you there," Ruth assures. "And if there's anything I can do, point her in my direction. We're all here."

"I know," Adam says softly.

It's not just Fiona's grief, or his. It's everyone's.

...

Harry spies him heading to the pods and pounces.

"Zaf."

"Harry," the other man greets.

"I'll need all the help I can get on my team for the moment, particularly now we're... missing some officers," Harry tails off, his sentence feeling weak. He runs a hand across his forehead in an attempt to smooth away his frown. It has little effect.

"Anything I can do to help, just ask," Zaf chimes in.

"I appreciate it," Harry says, wanting to sound genuine but aware of how hollow his voice sounds. He barely knows Zaf, but he has already demonstrated his impressive skill-set today and has sensitively distanced himself from the rest of them during the aftermath. Harry wants Zaf to stick around. He needs as many people on his side as possible to fight the ongoing battles that a life in espionage provides.

"Get a good night's sleep – you've earned it," Harry instructs.

"Thanks. Goodnight, Harry," Zaf replies, heading to the pods.

Harry hopes that the next time Zaf sees the Grid it will be under better circumstances.

...

"Adam!"

Colin spots his colleague heading out of Thames House, flipping open his wallet and swearing rather loudly, his gaze gruffly glancing the huge queue for taxis. Colin forgot that outside Thames House it was a Friday night in London, where people went out to drink the week's troubles away; something that currently seemed like a very appealing option. He had finally reached the front of the queue and had just opened the door of the vehicle.

"Adam!" he calls again, gesturing for the other man to approach."Get in. It's on me," he tells him.

"You sure?" Adam asks.

"Of course." Colin walks around the other side of the vehicle, clambering inside and giving the driver both of their addresses.

"I owe you, Colin," Adam says, offering a small smile.

"Think nothing of it," Colin waves his hand dismissively. Adam was the kind of bloke to whom Colin owed probably close to a hundred favours, mostly including the saving of his own life. A borrowed tenner meant nothing in comparison.

...

Ruth didn't expect to see him here. She has just left Thames House and the thought of going home with only her thoughts for company felt so unbearable that she had walked into the closest bar and ordered a glass of wine. And there, tucked away in the corner with a beer in hand, watching everyone else laugh, is Zaf. He meets her gaze and smiles, waving her over.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he says, moving his coat so she can take a seat.

"It's not really my scene," she admits, watching a group of young people down shots at the bar and erupt into laughter.

"Just the closest place to be invisible for a while, right?"

Zaf had hit the nail on the head, and she meets his eyes with surprise.

He shrugs. "This job can make you feel like that. Watching everyone else's lives sometimes seems a lot more appealing than sorting out your own."

"That's awfully insightful for someone so young," Ruth comments, before realising what she has said. "I didn't mean- wow, that was a bit-"

"Patronising?" Zaf offers, smiling graciously. "I think I'll forgive you, Ruth." He clinks his beer bottle on her glass of wine. "To new friendships."

"And old ones," she adds, moving her eyes suddenly away.

"To Danny," Zaf suggests softly.

Ruth lifts the glass to her lips, more than happy to drink to his memory.

...

Fiona can't find the energy to be irritated at the ringing of the doorbell. She didn't sleep for a second last night, too afraid to close her eyes in case the image of Danny's body or the sound of the gunshot haunted her subconscious.

She runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to dispel a definite bedhead and opens the door.

"Breakfast," Malcolm announces.

Fiona is hardly ever lost for words, but right now the gesture is so unexpected and sweet that a lump forms in her throat.

"Thank you," she manages to whisper, reaching out for the paper bag and tray of two steaming take-away coffees.

"The other is for Adam," Malcolm adds. "I went for a cappuccino for both of you. I wasn't sure what your favourite would be. There's a Danish pastry and a croissant..." He tails off, seemingly unsure of what his next sentence should be.

"It's perfect, Malcolm," Fiona tells him softly. "Thank you."

Malcolm lifts the corners of his mouth into a smile. "My pleasure. I hope-" Once again he stops himself. Fiona knows that she and Malcolm have rarely conversed, but when faced with a sudden realisation of the extent of his kindness she wonders why she'd never given him more of her time.

"I hope to see you all soon," she suggests, saving him.

Malcolm nods and gives one more wistful smile, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and pacing away.

Fiona takes a sip of one cappuccino, perfectly blended, and collapses onto the sofa. The next time she sees Malcolm, she would be sure to return the favour.

...

He knows he is breaking about a hundred protocols, safety measures, orders from high places. But right now, Harry is in the sort of mood where such precautions can bugger off. He reaches for the phone and dials the number squirreled away on an MI5 database.

"Hello?" The voice sounds so carefree, so alive. So like the woman he remembers, and misses.

"This is Harry Pearce," he says mechanically, hating how official he sounds.

"Harry!" she declares in joy. "Why so formal?" The smile is evident in her voice. It soon fades. "Has something happened?"

He pauses, plucking up the courage to break her life into tiny fragments that can never be reconnected.

"Zoe, I'm calling to tell you about Danny."

...

Colin is in earlier than everyone else, trying to update the firewalls on the MI5 website following an attempted hack by some joker who had tried to change the logo to a massive smiley face. It might have been amusing had the Grid not felt so empty and lifeless for days.

He doesn't even notice when Harry approaches, only turning around when he hears him speak.

"Danny's parents have picked a day for the funeral. The 29th," Harry announces.

Colin nods to himself, but his words make the horror of the situation hit back again, twice as hard. Danny's body. The young man whom Colin had watched swanning into the Grid each morning, sporting a new designer jacket or whistling a song he'd heard on the radio. Surely he was too young for a funeral?

"Okay," Colin replies, unsure of what response is required. It seems to be one that Harry accepts, as he nods and paces away. Colin notices how his boss' gaze grazes the desk at which Danny used to sit before he moves his eyes away. Colin wonders who will be the next person to sit there.

Colin can't help but think how difficult it will be for the team to adjust.

...

Harry had asked her discreetly, and although she is aware of potential complications, the risk of getting caught and the fact it is probably illegal, Ruth knows that it is the right thing to do.

It seems so cruel that she has to reveal Danny's death in this way, but an old dead drop is the only untraceable route of contact. It wouldn't go directly to the recipient, of course – Harry had hired an innocuous middle man to check the drop daily for a few months and, in the likely event of a message, pass it on.

Ruth delivers the note, which she has written and re-written several time in a futile attempt to make the words sound right. The drop is a loose piece of brick in the walls of an old warehouse, tucked away in a slightly quieter segment of London.

A week or so later, she receives a reply directly from who the note was intended for.

_I take it my presence at the funeral is out of the question? Say a prayer for him from me. Please._

It was abrupt and cold. No 'I'm sorry' or 'best wishes'. Even the 'please' was slightly out of character.

But that had been Tom's way. Danny had been like a brother to him and yet he would never lose his permanent poker face, his defensiveness that he used as a shield, his coldness to discourage prying eyes.

They all had ways of coping in this profession; some were more effective than others.

Ruth had known Tom well, as well as you could ever know him anyway, and knows that he will be hurting. The fact that he would have to hurt in silence was a thought she couldn't bear to contemplate.

...

Adam regrets speaking viciously to Malcolm as soon as the order slips off his tongue. He knows Malcolm won't retort, though. Perhaps that's what makes being unkind to him so easy.

Fiona is on leave. Sam has left. Zaf's transfer period is still being negotiated. Danny is dead.

Adam is over-worked and his team are over-stretched. He doesn't want to make matters worse by snapping. He knows that he must be the voice of reason, the cool and collected leader. But as operations pile up and new threats swarm them like a hive of angry bees, Adam knows that the next think to go wrong will push him over the edge.

He takes five minutes out to pace on the roof, hoping that the cool morning breeze will alleviate the stresses rattling around in his head. Everything seems to be ten times worse because Danny's funeral is tomorrow, and all of them are reluctant to say goodbye.

When he returns, a fresh mug of coffee is waiting on his desk. One sip of the glorious caffeine warms him up, gives him a boost. Adam meets Malcolm's eye and manages a smile. The fact that it has been provided by a man whose head he nearly bit off a mere hour ago, someone whose kindness he probably doesn't deserve at all, makes it taste even better.

Sometimes, even the smallest gestures can mean the most.

...

Harry is the last to file into the church. His colleagues, all but Fiona, have selected a seat in the pews. They are dressed formally, expressions suitably altered to match the occasion.

As the vicar speaks and they sing hymns, Harry can't help but think of the boy who bounded onto the Grid on his first day.

"_Hi. I'm Danny Hunter," he declared, holding his hand out for a shake enthusiastically._

"_Harry Pearce, your boss. I can't help but noticing that you're almost twenty minutes late, Mr Hunter."_

"_Tube strike. Not my fault," he shrugged. "Is this my desk?"_

"_It is indeed. If you want to keep it, turn up to work on time."_

_Danny looked slightly bewildered. "Erm, yes, Mr Pearce."_

_He finally allowed his poker face to dissolve when satisfied that Danny was suitably remorseful. "Call me Harry. I hope you enjoy your time with us."_

_Danny grinned. "So do I."_

Harry bows his head. The thought that Danny's own family wouldn't ever know how he died sickens him to the soul. Everyone deserves to know what Danny Hunter did that day; the indelible mark he made by saving a fellow officer's life and standing up to their struggle against terrorism.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an explosion. It is close enough to be heard; too far to be visible from the stained glass windows of the church. He catches Adam's eye.

Their latest casualty in an ongoing battle won't be granted a proper goodbye. Their war is far from over, and Danny Hunter is only one in a long list of sacrifices that they will have to make.

Harry rises from his seat and takes one last look at the coffin.

A colleague. A friend. A hero.

The world outside may carry on, but Danny's memory would live on in Section D.

...


End file.
